A Victorian Holmes
by rolyat00
Summary: The wild cousin of John Watson leaves her home in America in order to start a new life in London under his guidance. Will she find herself in a better situation? Or will she succumb to the influences of a Victorian Era Sherlock Holmes?
1. Chapter 1: Wounded Wealth

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock Holmes and the other characters related to him. All rights belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, BBC, Marvel, and various authors and other screenplays. I will be using some of the plot in my story so that does not entirely belong to me either. I take credit for the character of Charlotte Watson and much of the romantic plot, but that is all.

Thank you and please enjoy!

Chapter 1: Wounded Wealth

The ocean air was crisp and smelled of salt as I climbed up to the top of the deck. Travelling alone as a woman was actually quite terrifying but I also found it to be rather invigorating. This is exactly what my mother had been worried about when I had lived with her back in America. I was a wild girl and I did not meet society's standards in the late nineteenth century. This is why she sent me off to London. My mother thought that maybe the old country would be able to instill old customs upon my modernized spirit.

I grasped the cold rail in my hands as I peered out across the Atlantic Ocean at my new home. The sky was filled with clouds, swollen and gray, ready to burst. I suppose I should have expected this, as I was headed towards London after all. Hopefully my cousin John would be a benevolent man. I also hoped that he would not be too boring. The weather was already dull enough.

Sailors were yelling and pulling on ropes. Their skilled hands manipulated the great, white, billowing sails as they brought us ashore. I went to grab my bags from my room only to realize that they had been fetched for me. Already my mother's plan to turn me into a proper lady was taking effect. I could carry my own bags thank you very much.

I followed the crowd out of the great vessel I had been living on and went in search of my cousin whom I had never met. I felt silly panic begin to grip my throat as I was pushed and shoved by the crowd around me. I could not see a thing because of my small stature. A tall man with dark curls was suddenly gripping my arm and he effortlessly pulled me from the chaos.

"No need to thank me," he said before I had even opened my mouth, "It doesn't take a genius to escape a sea of idiots like that."

I was not affronted by his disregard of formalities or by the fact that this man was unknown to me. I was more concerned with the blow he had just given to my intelligence.

"Excuse me sir, but I believe you are mistaken…"

"Oh I highly doubt that," he interjected, "I am never wrong."

"Well if one thing is true, it is that you are a complete arse," I mumbled under my breath.

Mother would have fainted upon hearing those words leave my lips, but the man only smiled at me in an amused fashion.

"Ah here we are," said the bright eyed stranger as we approached a shorter man. "This is my flat-mate Doctor John H. Watson, who, I presume, is also your cousin."

"How did you know that was her?" John spluttered.

"Oh Watson it was so very simple. It must be rather boring in your funny little brains."

Clearly this man had an aptitude for insulting the intelligence of others, including army doctors.

"It is a pleasure to finally meet you, cousin. It was so gracious of you to accept me into your home," I said.

"And you've come just in time, Charlotte, for I am to be wed soon and my fiancée and I would most certainly appreciate your assistance in the wedding plans."

John's flat-mate rolled his eyes at this statement. My cousin seemed overjoyed by the news he had just given me, but I could discern that his companion felt otherwise.

"Oh and I've nearly forgotten to give you a proper introduction. Charlotte, this man here is my best-man and best friend Sherlock Holmes."

I opened my mouth to properly greet the strange gentleman but he once again robbed me of my opportunity to speak.

"It's rather cold isn't it?" he said. "Don't answer that, I was not really asking either of you. Now let us get in the cab before we all catch a chill."

There were going to be some unavoidable fights between Mr. Holmes and I, with us in the same living arrangement and all. Putting two fiery spirits such as ours so near to one another could only burn down the entire city of London.

I peered out the cab window and watched my new city pulse with life around me. Men tipped their hats as they passed each other in the streets, and couples took a stroll together in the mid-autumn air. All of these things were so mundane, yet I found them comforting nonetheless. Suddenly my eye was caught by a commotion to our left. I leaned against the window in order to get a better look and I found myself peering at an old man lying in a crumpled heap upon the ground.

"Cousin! Cousin!" I cried.

"Please Charlotte you make take the liberty of calling me John," replied the former solider in a tired voice.

"Alright then John," I said, "Look out the window will you, this poor man is injured!"

John quickly had the cabbie pull over and I saw the flapping of coattails as he and Mr. Holmes both ran to the elderly man lying in the grass.

I opened my door and dashed across the road after them. In doing so, some of my wavy chestnut hair fell from my hat and dangled in front of my eyes.

When I reached my destination I saw that the man was lying in the most unnatural position. His arms were bent in ways I had not thought possible and one of his legs was pulled much to close to his head. His face was bloody and bruised, but the most prominent injury was most certainly on his neck. This skin there was mottled over with the deepest shades of violet and it was bent more crooked than an old hag's nose. The most curious quality of the injury was a red, bloody ring around the lower part of his neck.

"Miss Watson I think it would be best if you waited in the car," Holmes stated coolly.

I simply ignored the man and continued to look over my cousin's shoulder.

"This man was most likely walking home from the pastry shop as you can see from the parcel in his hand. Now is not the time for sweets so he must live alone or else someone would scold him for such a habit. The old man was wealthy as you can deduce from his clothing, but he had no one to bestow his fortune upon. He wore around his neck, a chain, which most likely held a valuable possession such as his late wife's wedding ring. Considering the gentleman's height and the current location of the sun, the light would have glinted off of the jewelry and could have been seen from a distance. At this location in London, it is not uncommon to come across a gang of young boys who are known for stealing from the more fortunate. These boys took note of the large jewelry around the man's neck and ambushed him, which can be seen by the different sized handprints along the body. The necklace was ripped from the throat afterwards with much difficulty as you can see by the jagged, bloody ring around his throat."

I stared at Mr. Holmes in awe as John went off to send a telegram to the police. The tall man gripped my arm and led me back to our cab. John soon joined us and we went off in the direction of my new home.


	2. Chapter 2: The Criminal Hat

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock Holmes and the other characters related to him. All rights belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, BBC, Marvel, and various authors and other screenplays. I will be using some of the plot in my story so that does not entirely belong to me either. I take credit for the character of Charlotte Watson and much of the romantic plot, but that is all.

Thank you and please enjoy!

 **Chapter 2: The Criminal Hat**

I stepped through the door of 221B Baker Street to be greeted by a kind old woman by the name of Mrs. Hudson. John explained to me that she was our landlady and that he thought we would get along nicely.

The flat was nicely sized and had simple but appealing furnishings. The muted colors and wood tones were exactly what I had always wanted in a home, unlike the beach house I had grown up in just outside Boston. The slight mess did not bother me as I was used to something similar from living with my disheveled father. If anything, it gave the place a cozy appeal. Much to my horror, I realized that I had allowed John to carry my things to my room.

"Oh John I am so terribly sorry, you really did not need to fetch my bags for me, I am quite capable of it myself!"

"Do not waste your thank-yous on me Charlotte. Sherlock insisted that he take your bags up and I let him go right ahead. Do not be alarmed if he makes deductions about you from the color of your bag or something similar. Holmes's is the world's only consulting detective and he likes to remind people of that. Personally, I would just say that he'll take any opportunity to show off."

I nodded slowly and took a seat on the sofa as Mr. Holmes descended the staircase.

"Charlotte," he said, "You were born in the year eighteen sixty-eight according to a tag upon your case which would indicate that your are approximately two and twenty years of age. Your bags were a modest shade of brown so I would assume that you have a love for simple beauty, but I can also deduce that you had a wealthy upbringing from glancing at the manufacturer. You had a strong female figure in your life, which I can see by the way you hold your head. Obviously you consider yourself rather equal to a man and expect to be treated as such. This can also allude to the fact that you had a weaker male figure while growing up. These people, of course, would be your mother and your father."

"Despite these things that would lead to you being less frivolous," he continued, "I can also deduce that you do not have much trouble relating to others and getting along well with them. This is a considerable feat since your intelligence is far beyond the norm, which often causes trouble with social interactions, especially for women. Your eyes have a light in them that can only be a window to your intense curiosity about the world. You also have a habit of squinting when looking far away. This is because you are slightly near-sighted from always having your head buried in a book…"

"That's enough Sherlock," John warned.

"…And," he said as he approached me with a look of purpose upon his face, "You have thick hair piled up under that hat, which you prefer to wear down because the weight of it often causes you pain," he said while plucking my the hat from my head.

"Brilliant," I replied while taking my hat from his hands, "But how on earth could you tell that I have thick hair?"

"You tilt your head when you are not engaged. That is a sign of discomfort in the head and neck area."

"Right you are," I confirmed as I reached up to release my hair from its pins.

I let my brown locks cascade down from their perch upon my head and they fell around my shoulders. The curls settled to frame my angular face. Finally I was freed from the form of torture that I had been confined to while on the ship. It was not entirely proper for me to let my hair down this way in the presence of strangers but John was family and Mr. Holmes… was not. Oh dear lord this was not good.

I looked up through a curtain of my hair into the eyes of the detective. There was a new fire behind the endless seas that he saw the world through. Instead of a cold knowingness, I found more of a warm curiosity.

"I-I am so very sorry that was rather informal of me," I said as I moved to place my hat back upon my head.

"No, no it's… fine. Really it's fine Miss Watson, but since I see that you are clearly comfortable in my presence, would it be such a burden to allow me to call you Charlotte?"

"Only if you will deem it proper for me to call you Sherlock, Mr. Holmes," I replied.

"But of course, Charlotte," said the detective.

I took the time to then glance at John and I was met with a cheeky wink. The man thought we were flirting! No, I came to London to put my old self aside. My wilder days were over and I was planning on acting like the adult that I was, and Sherlock Holmes would not stand in my way.

I blushed and excused myself, saying that I had had a long and strenuous journey. I then made my escape to the sanctuary of my room.


	3. Chapter 3: Tribulations Over Tea

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock Holmes and the other characters related to him. All rights belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, BBC, Marvel, and various authors and other screenplays. I will be using some of the plot in my story so that does not entirely belong to me either. I take credit for the character of Charlotte Watson and much of the romantic plot, but that is all.

Thank you and please enjoy!

Chapter 3: Tribulations Over Tea

I woke and dressed myself. I did not need a lady's maid. My grandmother had been poor and was not afforded the luxury, so she took it upon herself to teach my mother how to take care of herself, and my mother passed this knowledge down to me.

The flat was cold in the early morning, but I did not mind. I went to make myself a cup of my favorite, Darjeeling tea. I sat at the table with a novel that consisted of a collection of poems and stories by Edgar Allan Poe as I waited for the kettle.

"Strange read," stated the detective as he took the kettle off of the stove and proceeded to pour hot water into my mug.

"Just like me," I muttered under my breath.

"You have a habit of doing that."

"Pardon?"

"You have a habit of muttering to yourself," said the detective. "You had better watch out. That's one of the early signs of madness.

Sherlock proceeded to sip the tea.

"Excuse me, but that was mine," I said.

"Yes and that chair you are currently sitting in, happens to be mine. I'll boil another cup if you find yourself somewhere else to sit."

What a man! I refused to take such nonsense from him and I stayed where I was, continuing to read my favorite poem by Poe, _Annabelle Lee_. Holmes was unsatisfied with my response and continued to stand by my chair, expecting me to move.

"Miss Watson," said he in a clipped tone, "I think you'll find it in your best interest to _move_."

I was slightly afraid of him when he used such a tone of voice, but luckily John came to my rescue.

"My fiancée, Mary, has invited us over for tea today, so I suggest you both put aside the bad behavior for another day."

"John, what is going to happen when you and Mary have your own home away from Baker Street? Where will I live? I know I am to join you wherever you choose to reside, but I do not believe that I am capable of parting with such a nice chair. I think we should take it with us when we move."

My suggestion earned me a steely glare from Mr. Holmes. If he had not restrained himself, I think it would have also earned me a splash of hot tea to the face.

N/S~

John's fiancée greeted us at the door with a tired smile. The wedding planning was obviously taking a toll on her, but she was still stunningly beautiful.

Mary's home was not grand, but it was not simple. It was almost even more of a mess than Baker Street. Wedding catalogs were strewn across the tables and there were piles of cloth napkins on the sofa. There were also some left over cake samples sitting out in the kitchen and I had never seen so many bottles of champagne in my life.

"John I just cannot figure out how to have the napkins folded!" Mary cried in exasperation. She had to do much of the planning herself because she ran away from home and her parents refused to give her any money. They were not even attending the wedding.

Sherlock slipped away from the damsel in distress and began to fold the napkins with his deft fingers. I watched as he folded all sorts of strange triangles and flowers. He even managed to create a swan with an elegantly sloped neck.

"How did you manage to do that?" I inquired.

"You'd be surprised what kinds of things I need to know for my profession," he replied.

The day went on as we continued to plan for the wedding. It was only a week away and Mary asked me to be one of her bridesmaids. I must admit that I was honored.


	4. Chapter 4: An Autumn Wedding

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock Holmes and the other characters related to him. All rights belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, BBC, Marvel, and various authors and other screenplays. I will be using some of the plot in my story so that does not entirely belong to me either. I take credit for the character of Charlotte Watson and much of the romantic plot, but that is all.

Thank you and please enjoy!

 **Chapter 4: An Autumn Wedding**

I woke up early in the morning after a nearly sleepless night. Today my cousin John was to be married, and to a wonderful woman at that. They were both very lucky people. I hoped that I would one day be just as lucky to find that special someone, whoever that may be.

"Charlotte!" Sherlock called from the lower floor, "Where did you put the tea?"

"Oh Mr. Holmes you're a detective, now why don't you figure it out yourself?" I suggested while coming down the staircase in my silken robe.

"Right…" he muttered, "Now if I were as short as you are, where would I put the tea that I reached for most…"

Sherlock proceeded to stare at the cabinets for a few more moments before he pulled open one to his right, only to find it filled with pots and pans. He gave me a look and walked in my direction.

"Charlotte, I just opened the only convenient cabinet for you and it did not contain the tea I desire. Where on earth did you put it?"

"Sherlock, did you ever consider that I did not find the tea a new place to stay?"

Sherlock walked back over to the cabinets and opened the one that had initially contained the tea. He pulled out three boxes of English breakfast and then finally grabbed one filled with Darjeeling that was towards the back.

"I threw the box back into the cabinet because I did not feel like finding a stool to properly reach the shelf and it fell behind the other teas," I explained.

"I already knew that of course," snapped the detective.

Feeling uncomfortable looking so indecent in just my dressing gown, I went back to my room to begin getting dressed for the wedding. Mary was having the bridesmaids dress in a deeper shade of purple. I preferred the lilac ones from earlier but the bride deserved what the bride wanted. The dress was a smooth and beautiful fabric. I could have run my hands across it all day, but I also had to worry about my hair. I pulled strands of it this way and that until I managed to get my thick mane into a delicate up-do. I stuck diamond pins in my hair that matched my earbobs and necklace. At that moment I really did feel pretty, but it was not my day. That day belonged to Mary as she embarked on a new chapter in her life as the wife of John Watson.

Admittedly, I was nervous for the wedding because it also meant that I would have to go through some adjustments as well. John did not feel comfortable leaving me alone in his new home while he and Mary were on their holiday. I was to stay at Baker Street with Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson until they returned. Then, my living arrangement would change and I would learn to call yet another new place my home. It truly was a shame that I would find myself moving, I really did love Baker Street.

There was a knock at my door and then I heard John's voice.

"Charlotte, we really must be going now," he said, "I don't want to be late to my own wedding."

I opened the door and smiled at my nervous cousin.

"Oh John there's no need to worry. You and Mary love each other and that is all that matters."

John smiled and thanked me for my kind words as we walked to our cab.

"Where's Sherlock? I inquired as we drove away without the detective.

"He's already gone to the church. Said he's got some finishing touches for the flower arrangements."

"The world's only consulting detective has become your consulting florist then?"

John chuckled, "I suppose so."

The cab pulled up to the church and it was absolutely stunning, much more grand than anything I had ever laid my eyes on in Boston. The building had designs more intricate than a spider's web, but ten thousand times as sturdy. I had to crane my neck in order to view the cross perched upon the top of the building. It was magnificent and awe inspiring to view such a piece of architecture.

I left John to go about doing whatever groom-like things he had to be doing and I went in search of the room where Mary was getting ready. She only had her bridesmaids to help her prepare for the day because of her absent family.

After a few minutes I finally found Mary. She had a calm look about her and it was evident that she was glowing. I had never seen such radiance in the eyes of another until looking into Mary's.

"Are you ready Charlotte?" The bride asked.

"Shouldn't I be the one asking you such a thing?" I laughed.

Mary gave me a smile and motioned for me to sit down next to her.

"I know how hard it is to be put into a new situation," she said, "and you've been getting tossed around quite a lot recently. First you switch countries and now you'll be moving to a different home after finally getting settled. This is obviously going to be rather difficult and I want you to know that I will be here to go through it with you."

Her words brought tears to my eyes and I could only respond by wrapping the older woman in my arms. I was going to have Mary as a lifelong friend and I could not have been more thankful.

N/S~

Mary walked down the aisle unaccompanied. While I stood at the altar with her other bridesmaid, Janine, I tried to imagine what Mary's father would have looked like. I pictured him with Mary's bright eyes, but he would not have the same beautiful smile. He probably was not the tallest of men considering the stature of his daughter. Mary was around the same height as me. We were both so small that even John was taller than us.

Much to my dismay, tears welled up in my eyes at the sight of John and Mary when she finally met him at the end of her walk. Suddenly I sensed warmth next to me and I was surprised to see Sherlock by my side. I looked up at his face and his gaze met my watery one. That day Sherlock Holmes and I had the same eyes. They were filled with pain and joy. We both felt the loss of the past, and the hope of the future. We remembered what we had had, and we looked forward to what we would find, but in that moment we both knew, that nothing would ever be the same.

I could not fathom the intensity of Sherlock's emotions if I was already overcome with such strong feelings. He had much more to lose than I had. The man by my side was truly going to experience the end of an era that he had seen the birth of; meanwhile I was only given a glimpse of it. I wondered how Holmes would fare without his roommate to take care of him. Maybe I would be allowed to stay with him considering my relationship to his best-friend. It was not right for Mrs. Hudson to have to worry about the younger Holmes all by herself.

Wrapped up in my own thoughts, I had entirely missed the vows. I was only pulled out of my reverie by the crowd's applause as the couple shared a kiss. One could swear that there was a grimace upon Sherlock's face.

The time for the reception had come. Luckily, Janine said a few words about Mary and I did not have to give a speech. Mr. Holmes on the other hand, had a great deal more to worry about than I.

Sherlock Holmes was a great man. He was the worlds only consulting detective and nobody knew London as well as he did. He had solved many a crime and saved countless lives with the help of my cousin, and now, he could not even start to say the first sentence of his best-man speech.

"I-I," he stuttered before glancing at a smiling Mrs. Hudson, "Um I would uh like to start with the… the telegrams!"

I expected more eloquence from Sherlock Holmes. He quickly went through the telegrams and did not try to hide the fact that he found them boring. I daresay the crowd agreed. Once that was though, Sherlock proceeded to praise John.

"I often struggle to be appropriately polite around others," Sherlock began, "And I find myself to be uncomprehending when in the face of those that are happy. I never expected that someone would love a person like myself, and so I never thought that I would be somebody's best-man. John Watson is a kind and valiant man. Not only did I never expect to be somebody's best-man and best-friend, but I never expected to be the best-man of the warmest and most reliable human-being that I have ever had the good fortune of knowing. I can not applaud your choices in friends, John, for I am a cold and ridiculous man, but I can thank you for your unwavering compassion. Mary, when I say you deserve this man, I am giving you the highest compliment that I am capable of…" he trailed off and glanced at some cards in his hands.

"Now I'll uh, tell some funny stories about John."

After saying this, Sherlock heard quiet sobbing from the audience. Mrs. Hudson glanced at him with her handkerchief in hand, and even Detective Inspector Lestrade had moist eyes. Sherlock glanced at John with a panic-filled expression, worried that he had made some grave mistake.

"What happened John? Did I do it wrong?" He then directed his attention to the audience, "Why are all of you doing that? Stop it."

John stood up and engulfed Sherlock in his arms as the audience applauded.

"No Sherlock, you didn't do it wrong," John assured him with a smile.

Sherlock proceeded to tell the audience about a few of the cases he had solved with John. The stories were engaging and enjoyable to hear, but there was one that he elaborated on more than the others. Sherlock had practiced telling this one in my presence. I remembered that John had saved the life of a child in this case. A young boy named Dean had been caught in a fire that he and his friend had accidentally started. Or at least the boys thought that it had been an accident. In reality, Sherlock's nemesis, Professor James Moriarty, had given Dean's young friend a box of matches. Thinking that the matches could be used as a way to play a game where you pick up sticks, the boys spread them across the floor. What they did not know was that Moriarty had covered the floor in petrol. When Dean and his friend set up their game, the sticks were lit easily from the friction caused when they tried to pick them up. Dean's friend went first and an intense flame instantly swallowed up his arm. While this transpired, Moriarty had been sending Sherlock telegrams with clues to solve the case. By the time he and John had reached the building, Dean's friend had been burnt to a crisp and the former was struggling to breath as his lungs filled up with smoke. Sherlock climbed in through the window and pulled the boy out of the burning building, but he did not know what to do from there. John helped Dean to breathe, and then treated all of his burn wounds. If John had not been there to help the boy to breathe, then both of the young children would have lost their lives that day. Everyone was greatly moved by the story Sherlock had told. He said that although he was capable of solving a case, John Watson would always be the one to save a life.

After Sherlock's speech it was time for the first dance. Sherlock played his violin for Mary and John as they glided across the floor. The piece he played was one he had composed specifically for this event. Sherlock's fingers drifted over the strings in a most delicate manner as he expertly guided the bow. I would have to play a piece with him the next time I got my fingers on a piano. My mother had me take lessons from a very young age and I was rather skilled at the instrument.

When Sherlock was finished he put his violin away and walked towards where I was sitting.

"Would you like to dance?" Sherlock asked as he offered me his hand.

"I suppose so," I replied while rising from my seat.

Sherlock led me to the floor and placed his hand on my waist as I moved one of mine to his shoulder. It was evident that Sherlock had other talents besides playing the violin as he effortlessly guided me with cat-like grace. I felt as if I was floating.

"Careful…" Sherlock said as he spun me around. Was it that obvious that I had a tendency to be clumsy?

The song ended with me pressed rather close to Sherlock's chest. I tried to pull back but he held me where I was as the music began once again.

"Would it be such a burden to allow me to have this next dance as well?" he asked.

It was not as if he was really asking though, I do not think he would have given me a choice. I did not mind this, and so we continued on in such a way for the remainder of the evening.


	5. Chapter 5: The Bloody Bother

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock Holmes and the other characters related to him. All rights belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, BBC, Marvel, and various authors and other screenplays. I will be using some of the plot in my story so that does not entirely belong to me either. I take credit for the character of Charlotte Watson and much of the romantic plot, but that is all.

Thank you and please enjoy!

 **Chapter 5: The Bloody Bother**

John and Mary were gone on their honeymoon, and so the only occupants of Baker Street were Sherlock, Mrs. Hudson, and myself. If John's plan followed through, then I soon would be leaving Baker Street to join the Watsons in their new home. I was ambushed by a wave of sadness as I thought of how empty 221B Baker Street was destined to become.

"Oh Miss Watson," Sherlock said in a singsong voice as he approached me from behind.

"Yes?" I replied while turning round to face him. The man was almost uncomfortably close. If Mrs. Hudson chose that moment to enter we would be deemed to be in a most indecent position and I would be forced to move into her flat until John returned.

"Do you want to solve crimes?" he whispered in my ear.

"I'm sorry, but what?" I said, rather taken aback. I could not focus with him in such close proximity.

"You heard me," said Holmes as he reached for his coat.

I sighed as I put on my own coat and hat. This man would never cease to amuse me.

"After you," Sherlock said as he held the door open for me.

We left Baker Street to find ourselves in the chilly autumn air. I struggled to keep up with Sherlock's long strides as we walked away from our home.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

The detective replied by turning up his coat collar against the wind. We continued on our way until we reached a brick building. Many of the windows were smashed in and the street was littered with broken glass. The door was boarded up, but that did not deter the detective. Sherlock knocked it down with one kick and entered the dark building.

I followed him inside and much to my disgust; a rat crawled across my toe. I bit my hand to keep from shrieking, knowing very well that my companion would not appreciate it.

"Do keep quiet Charlotte, we can't have you alerting the murderer of our presence just yet."

"We're going to catch them in the act?"

"No, actually. Just you are," he told me.

I sucked in a deep breath at this. Sherlock took note of my response.

"Don't be afraid Charlotte. I expected you to be much more reasonable."

"Well I apologize for fearing for my life. I believe that it is appropriate for someone to be a little afraid if they're going to be catching a murderer," I replied.

"No need for such silliness my dear. I would never let them hurt you."

I found Sherlock's words just as alarming as they were comforting. Whatever brought the cold-hearted detective to say such kind things must have been truly awful.

A creak sounded from the floor above us and I heard a great pounding sound. I felt as if I was listening to the melodic beat of a human heart.

Sherlock excitedly whispered, "The game is on," and began to climb up the staircase.

I followed close behind. It was hard to avoid giving in to the child-like urge to grab onto his coat. As terror flooded over me, I wondered if the sound of the pounding heart was my own.

"Now Charlotte," Sherlock instructed me, "There is a man in the room to your left. You are going to enter with a lamp in your hand, and shriek. At this sound, the murderer will turn round. Upon his doing this, I want you to clutch at your chest as if you're pained there. Then you must crumple to the ground as if you have swooned. Do you understand?"

"Yes Sherlock," I replied uneasily, "But what about the murderer, what then?"

"The victim is going to wake at the sound of your shriek and will be able to escape while the murderer is distracted by you."

I saw several flaws in this plan. What if the murderer came after me? What if the victim didn't think to escape? What if the murder did not turn at the sound of my shriek? I pushed aside my doubts for I did trust Sherlock. I felt his hand pressing at the small of my back as he guided me towards the door.

I pushed open the creaky wooden door with a lantern in my hand. Upon seeing the murderer with a large knife in his grip I let out a high-pitched scream. The murderer was not moved by my sound and brought the knife down upon his waking victim repeatedly. He stabbed and he stabbed and he stabbed. The sheets were staining with fresh blood. As I fell to the floor in a near faint, I saw dots of red all across the wood. The murderer was dragging the body out of bed until he came across my body upon the ground. I heard a thud as he dropped the dead man by my side. I tried not to breath as a sticky hand gripped my chin and moved my head from side to side. I felt the blade of the knife against my throat, now dull and warm from its previous use.

Suddenly Sherlock burst into the room and threw the man off of me just as he was starting to press the knife into my skin. I sat up in time to see Sherlock shove the man up against the wall by his shirt collar. Holmes's hands were stained with red.

"Sherlock…" I breathed out.

At this, the detective turned to look at me. He brought his focus back to the murderer a second too late. I heard a thud as Sherlock hurled the man into the corner. When he turned to face me there was large hole ripped in his shirt from the bloody knife. Beyond that I could see I gash going all the way from his right pectoral muscle across to his abdomen. Luckily, the insane culprit had not brought the knife anywhere near Sherlock's heart. The younger Holmes later assured me that it would not have mattered if the cut had gone near his heart anyways because he had been reliably informed that he did not have one.

I did not realize that I was sobbing until Sherlock gathered me in his arms. He carried me out of the bedroom and brought me to a sink on the ground floor. He handed me a washcloth and instructed me to wash the blood off of my face.

As I was doing this, Sherlock dragged the unconscious body of the murderer down the stairs and expertly tied him to a chair.

"Charlotte, are you alright?" Sherlock asked, looking up from his work.

"Yes, I'm not hurt… But Sherlock, you are," I said as I moved towards him with a clean cloth in hand.

"I'm fine," he insisted.

"You are now, but you won't be when that wound gets infected," I told him.

Sherlock sighed but then proceeded to unbutton his shirt to allow me better access to the cut. He winced a few times as I cleaned the gash across his rather nice body.

"Oh Sherlock," called a condescending voice from the doorway, "What have you gotten yourself into now?"

"Mycroft," said my companion in a hostile tone.

"Now don't tell me you brought this poor girl here to use her as a part of your little game."

Sherlock gave no reply.

"Just as I thought," said Mycroft with a sigh. He clapped his hands twice and two British soldiers came through to take away the murderer. Then they proceeded to go upstairs and returned with the mutilated body of the victim.

"Sherlock," I asked meekly, "Who is this?"

"The most annoying person on the planet," he said.

At the same time Mycroft had uttered, "Mycroft Holmes, his older brother."

"Alright…" I replied.

"Well, we've got to be off," Sherlock said cheerfully, "Places to go, people to see, and blood to clean up."

He got up from his chair and brought me with him out the door.

"Sherlock button your shirt," I hissed at him.

"Oh don't even bother," he replied, "I once went to Buckingham Palace in only a sheet."

I giggled in spite of everything knowing full well that that was something the one and only Sherlock Holmes would do.

We returned to our flat and Sherlock brought me over to a basin. He continued to clean my face and arms of the blood I had acquired. I winced as he touched the slight cut along my neck.

"Oh Charlotte…" he said, "I'm so sorry."

"Don't be Sherlock. We caught the murderer and now he won't be able to kill anybody else."

"Yes, but I let him kill a man," Sherlock said, putting his face in his hands.

I placed my hand upon his back, hoping to be of some comfort to the detective.

"Sherlock, we did our best," I said.

He replied with an unsatisfied grunt.

I began to rub my thumb in circles, hoping to have a soothing effect. Sherlock leaned into my hand slightly and gave me a half-hearted smile. He stood up from his chair and proclaimed that he was going to retire for the night. I bade him goodnight as he placed a kiss upon my forehead.

I could not sleep that night, for all I could think of was the feeling of his warm lips upon my skin.


	6. Chapter 6: A Dangerous Dinner

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock Holmes and the other characters related to him. All rights belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, BBC, Marvel, and various authors and other screenplays. I will be using some of the plot in my story so that does not entirely belong to me either. I take credit for the character of Charlotte Watson and much of the romantic plot, but that is all.

Thank you, feel free to review, and please enjoy!

 **Chapter 6: A Dangerous Dinner**

A new day dawned and I could not help but be overcome with a wave of sadness at the thought that I was one more day closer to moving out of 221B Baker Street. I looked down at the book in my hands, _Pride and Prejudice,_ and sighed. Maybe my own Mr. Darcy would come and I would not have to stay with John and Mary for too long. It is not that I did not love them, I just felt as if I was intruding. This was their life, their marriage, and they were going to start their own family, within which I would always feel like a bit of an outsider. The less time I spent in the Watson's new home the better.

Sherlock entered the sitting room with a book of his own grasped in his hands. It was not the same sort of book that I was reading. No, it was large, brown, and leather bound, with a smudge of ink across it that happened to be about the same size as Holmes's thumb. Said thumb was ink free, so it must have been from some time ago. The lazy late afternoon sunlight filtered in through the windows and cast a golden glow over my companion. He looked like London's own Adonis with the light casting perfect shadows across his chiseled features. I sat there, an adoring admirer, but my staring was not to go unnoticed.

"What are you looking at Charlotte?" He asked with a slight smirk as he scribbled something in his book.

There was no use in trying to hide what I had been doing. Holmes caught me and the game was afoot.

"You," I replied simply, but it still sounded rather bold.

"I noticed," the detective returned, "if you were trying to find the ink on my thumb, I can assure that that happened ages ago, but something tells me that wasn't the only reason you were staring at me hmm?"

The flush upon my cheeks was enough of a reply for the man across from me, and so he continued on with whatever he had to say.

"I see you've been reading, or rather not doing so," he stated.

"Yes," I said, "I would love to sit and enjoy my novel but it seems that I cannot focus."

"I will ignore my need to criticize you for reading a romance, and instead, offer to take you out to dinner. Perhaps your mind needs a break."

"Any evening spent with you is sure to be free of any sort of relaxation whatsoever!" I exclaimed. Yet I still rose from my chair and walked towards Sherlock.

"But, I will accept your offer, Mr. Holmes."

I went back to my room to find a nice hat and freshen up a bit. Looking in my mirror, I stuck a few more pins in my hair to fix the strands that had fallen loose. I considered pinching my cheeks to give them a bit of color, but I knew Sherlock would notice the gesture and there was a high likelihood of him pointing it out. Touching the locket at my neck, I realized that I was nervous. My mother once threatened to take away the gift she had given me because I always fiddled with it when I was unsettled. It was then that I realized that I felt like I was doing something wrong by going to dinner with Sherlock. The wrong sort of boys used to court me back home, and I'd often play along for a bit too long. It was not uncommon for me to accidentally get into undesirable situations, and now in London, I would no longer have my mother to rescue me from my troubles. All I had in my new home was John, and he was away. I realized with terror, that Sherlock probably chose this date because my cousin would be gone. I wondered if he would leave me alone if I stayed in my room all night.

"Charlotte!" Sherlock called, "Come, let us go before all of the tables are taken."

It was as if he could read my thoughts.

I put on my coat and walked out the door with Sherlock, only to be met by the biting air of late autumn. The silk gloves I had chosen were not going to keep me warm on such a night. Sherlock noticed this and grasped my small hands in his for a moment, knowing that I was cold.

We continued to walk on and I gravely wished for a chaperone.

Thankfully, the restaurant was nearby, and we arrived soon. In the company of others I felt more at ease. That is, until I discovered that Sherlock and the owner were friendly, and we were to be given a more private table towards the back of the restaurant. Sherlock said his reasoning was that I would be too cold near a window.

"Red or white?" asked the detective.

"Sherlock, I think you should decide."

"Well then, why don't we go with both?"

Good Lord that was going to be a lot of alcohol.

"That's a bit too much, don't you think?"

"Well if you're not going to decide, and I want to pick whatever you'd prefer, I might just have to order the whole list," he replied exasperated.

"I'd prefer if we had less alcohol."

"Fine then. Is prosecco alright?"

"Absolutely lovely," I replied, giving him a small smile."

I played with my locket as I looked at the menu. Everything was so expensive. I could not possibly decide, what with the worry of spending too much of my companion's earnings.

"Why don't we both just have the special?" Sherlock asked, "I can guarantee to you that the chef never disappoints, and also, I'd like to set your nerves aside. You can stop playing with that necklace now.

Embarrassed, I placed my hands in my lap and looked down at them. I surely looked like a child who had gotten caught with her hand in the biscuit tin before a meal.

"So, Sherlock, what brought you to suggest a night out?" I asked.

"Well, Charlotte, I believe it has come to your attention that John and Mary intend to take you away from Baker Street very soon. I thought that I should take you out for dinner as a way to try to make the most of our last several days together."

"How…kind."

I noticed as Sherlock wrote something down in a book. It was the leather one from earlier this evening.

"Pardon me, Mr. Holmes, but are you taking notes?" I asked with a laugh.

"Indeed I am. Think of this as a sort of experiment my dear Charlotte."

"As you wish," I replied.

Our waiter brought the wine to the table and poured each of us a glass. I watched my own cup as a stream of bubbles ran through the wine. Prosecco was always one of my favorites. Not only for the taste, but I loved watching the way the wine itself functioned.

"Brilliant, isn't it?" Sherlock said while staring at his own glass, "The same elements in this very wine make up parts of fundamental chemical reactions inside of your head and throughout the rest of your body. Just brilliant."

He took a sip and then steepled his fingers under his chin.

"Now, tell me, what were you thinking about this afternoon… No actually, don't tell me. I'm certain I can deduce it. You were reading a romance novel, particularly one of your favorites, which is evident from the much-used state that the book was in. No but I don't think that had a major play in why you were lost in thought. Your eyes held too much sadness for romance to have been a true issue. We had received a letter from John and Mary earlier. It was sitting on the table next to you, so you must have been reading it again. So that must have been it… You were sad and stopped reading your book to think about John and Mary. But, their marriage would not make you sad, because you were so obviously happy for them. Charlotte, I believe the issue is that you'll be sad to leave Baker Street when John and Mary return."

"Amazing…" I thought.

"Hardly, Charlotte, that was quite obvious. Anyone of our level of acquaintance should have been able to figure that out."

I moved my fingers to cover my lips as I realized I had given my praise out loud.

"Oh do stop that," Holmes said, "it's alright, just… most people, well, they don't always approve of my deductions."

I took my hands from my face and smiled at Sherlock, "I think they're wrong. Your superior intelligence is exceedingly admirable."

"I appreciate your compliments, Miss Watson."

His tone indicated that he was slightly embarrassed himself. If I hadn't known better, I would have thought that I was the reason for the flush upon his cheeks, but it was from the wine, it had to have been.

Sherlock reached for my fingers across the table and held them in his own for a brief moment before withdrawing them and writing another note in his large leather book.

Our meal passed in a most delightful manner, all awkwardness aside. Any cold apprehension that I had held in my head and in my heart had melted away. When we were finished, we were both content and comfortable in each other's company. How I was supposed to survive without this man in several days was unknown to me.

Sherlock held my coat up and allowed me to slip my arms through. He offered me his arm and I took it as we stepped into the unforgiving cold. A harsh wind came gusting at us without mercy, stinging my skin and causing my eyes to water. I leaned closer to Sherlock in an attempt to stay warm.

"I'll get us a cab, I think it's much to cold for us to walk home now."

Home. That was where we were going. 221B Baker Street was my home and I never ever wanted to leave.

We climbed into a cab and I was positively stiff from the cold. Sherlock once again put my hands in his.

"Watson will never forgive me if I'm the reason you catch a cold," Sherlock stated as he tried to bring warmth into my numb fingers.

"Maybe if I'm sick enough to be bedridden, I'll get a few extra days at Baker Street," I replied with a sigh.

"Are we going to make it our mission to change the Watson's minds?" Sherlock asked me while raising an eyebrow.

I huddled in closer, trying to soak up any bit of warmth and replied, "I don't think that's a bad idea."

We arrived at Baker Street and climbed out of the cab. Sherlock hurriedly brought us to the steps, desperate to get the two of us out of the cold.

I fell into a kitchen chair as soon as we entered through the door. Sherlock removed his hat and scarf and came over to pluck my own hat off of my head.

"Perhaps you should retire for the night, Charlotte," Sherlock suggested, "Your level of fatigue is actually quite alarming."

I stood and he removed my coat. Sherlock understood my health better that I did myself. I swayed and he held me steady with his strong hands.

Looking into his face, I could not help but feel teary. I did not want to leave Sherlock. I wanted to stay right here with him. I felt it was my duty to keep the consulting detective company, to help make an alien more human. He could look after me and I him. It was our duty and if we didn't fulfill it, then the sun would start to rotate round the earth and the whole universe would be completely backwards. We were meant to be together like the stars in Orion's belt, and that was how it was supposed to be. In that moment, I realized that I never wanted to spend another without Sherlock Holmes.

"Are you alright Charlotte?" Sherlock asked with a look of concern.

"Fine," I said softly, trying to move out of his grip.

The detective still held me in his arms and my tears poured forth.

"Oh Sherlock! I don't want to leave! I want to stay at Baker Street. Can't you see that I'm meant to stay here? Can't _they_ see?" I sobbed, falling forward against his chest.

The detective wrapped his arms around my small frame and held me as I mourned the end of our short era. Sherlock picked me up and carried me over to a sofa and pulled the pins free from my hair, causing it to tumble down around my shoulders. He rubbed his hand in soothing circles over my back as I finished up with the last of my tears.

"We can discuss this with John and Mary when they return," Sherlock said. "I do need an assistant, and now Watson's gone off and gotten himself married, so he won't always be around when I need him."

I pulled away and gave the detective a smile. Maybe there was hope for our future yet. As I took a moment to think, Sherlock took several more notes down in his book.

"How did your experiment go, Sherlock?"

"It exceeded my expectations if anything," he replied with one of his rare smiles.

"Really?" I said. "That's wonderful!"

"Yes, but there's one last thing I would like to try that I didn't get to do."

"And what would that be?"

Sherlock pulled me back towards him, our faces centimeters apart, and he whispered.

"This," as he leaned in to close the gap between our lips.

At first, I was too shocked to do anything, but then I moved my hands up and placed them on the sides of his face as he ran his fingers through my hair. Shivers went down my spine and I suddenly parted from him as the kiss became a bit more heated.

"I know that was forward Charlotte…" he began.

"No, it's fine. I, um, asked anyways, didn't I?" I stammered, still stunned.

He leaned back against the sofa and wrote down another note in his book.

"And the outcome of your experiment?"

"I've never been happier to have an incorrect hypothesis," he said with a cheeky grin, "but that does mean I'll have to try again, and see if I can create a new one that is accurate."

If I was not blushing from my neck to my forehead, then I'm sure my cheeks were still the rosiest of reds as I got up from my seat.

Sherlock stood with me, and brought me to him gently.

"Goodnight my dear Charlotte," he said as he moved to brush his lips against my own once more.


	7. Chapter 7: Consulting Mrs Watson

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock Holmes and the other characters related to him. All rights belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, BBC, Marvel, and various authors and other screenplays. I will be using some of the plot in my story so that does not entirely belong to me either. I take credit for the character of Charlotte Watson and much of the romantic plot, but that is all.

Thank you and please enjoy!

 **Chapter 7: Consulting Mrs. Watson**

Around 3 o'clock, Sherlock, Mrs. Hudson, and I all decided to have our afternoon tea. John and Mary were due to arrive soon, so we thought it would be best to wait for them together.

"Charlotte, could you pass me a biscuit?" Sherlock asked.

"What's the magic word?" I said teasingly.

Sherlock fixed me with a stare, knowing that the answer was going to be something other than "please".

"Your smirk tells me that it's obviously not a common word like 'please,' and seeing that you're someone who likes to read it could quite possibly be a reference to literature. There's a copy of _Les Misérables_ currently laying on the table and you think you're clever enough to trick me, so I believe that the 'magic word' is not 'please,' but, 's'il te plaît'?"

"Wrong!" I exclaimed with a giggle, truly proud to have fooled Sherlock Holmes.

"Oh bugger—"

"Sherlock!" Mrs. Hudson warned. She called him by his first name since she always saw him as a son.

"Is it 's'il vous plaît' then? because that's grammatically incorrect since we call each other by our first names."

"Grammar doesn't have to apply to magic words, Mr. Holmes" I said smugly.

All three of our heads turned towards the window at the sound of a cab pulling up in front of 221B. Mrs. Hudson left to go welcome them and Sherlock stood to pace the room.

"Sherlock," I began, "are you going to tell John of what transpired?"

"I fear Watson might punch me if I tell him that I took you on a case with me."

"That's not what I meant…"

Our conversation was cut short as Mr. and Mrs. Watson entered the room, both wearing smiles that were much too bright for how I was currently feeling.

"Charlotte!" Mary exclaimed as she enveloped me in a hug. "Oh, how I've missed you!"

"You look positively radiant, Mary."

"And you darling…" Mary hesitated, "you look... well are you alright?"

"Yes," I replied, quickly glancing over at Sherlock, "I've simply caught a chill."

Our family doctor then interrupted the conversation.

"Well, we'll fix you right up, Charlotte dear! The new house is in a suburb of London where the air is much more fresh. It will do you a lot of good."

I gave my cousin a forced smile and thanked him.

In reality, I felt sick to my stomach. Here was my cousin, happy to see me and being ever so generous, but I could never truly be grateful. All I wanted in this world was to stay by the side of Sherlock Holmes, and moving in with the Watsons would rob me of that luxury. Not only that, but Sherlock was acting very distant today. Did the man not see that I admired him? Such a detective would not be so slow, and if he had caught on, then was he disgusted by my feelings? Did childish love, from a young woman such as myself, repulse the great detective?

I suddenly felt very light-headed. My corset was laced too tight and the room was much too hot. The biscuits weren't sitting well in my stomach and my anxieties were like little butterflies floating around inside of me, crashing into all of the wrong parts of my body. Suddenly the world came crashing down around me, but before I could fall to the floor, I was floating.

~~~Sherlock's Perspective~~~

Charlotte looked unwell. I saw her begin to sway and moved over to catch her before her delicate body came crashing to the floor. I gently laid her upon the couch and resisted the urge to brush her soft hair back with my fingers.

"Goodness!" exclaimed Mrs. Hudson, "the poor dear must really be ill".

"Yes, that's right," said John as he took her temperature with the back of his hand. "Perhaps Mary and I should stay the night so that we won't have to move her."

"That's fine with me," I replied, much too quickly.

John and Mary were tired from their long journey and soon retired to John's old room. Mrs. Hudson cleared the dishes from earlier and then left for her own flat.

Now alone, I sat down on the couch and gazed at Charlotte's sleeping figure. Some color had returned to her cheeks, but she still looked unwell enough for one to believe that she had fainted. Her hair had fallen from its pins when she swooned, giving me the opportunity to gently brush it away from her cheek.

"Holmes?"

There was no use in rising quickly since Mrs. Watson had clearly already seen me. This was evident from the tone of her voice.

"Here." I said as I walked over to her.

"You know, you don't fool me" said Mary.

"Sorry?"

"You love her, don't you?"

"I don't _love,_ Mrs. Watson. I deduce and get high. You really don't want to associate me, love, and you're precious cousin if you truly value her future."

"I think you want me to anyways."

"And if I do?" I asked, tilting my head to the side inquisitively.

"Then I would consider offering my assistance."

"Do go on, Mrs. Watson."

"Holmes, I can see that you obviously care greatly for Charlotte. I think that she would be good for you, seeing that she's bright and that she brings out a more human side of you. As your friend, I completely support a match between the two of you. As her current guardian, my opinions differ. You are reckless, rude, and you are constantly finding yourself in dangerous situations. You also have enemies who would use her to get to you."

"So what you're saying is that you do not condone a match between Charlotte and I?"

"No, not quite. I know that you're capable of protecting her from everyone and everything, except yourself. Overtime, I believe that you would become available enough emotionally for a match—"

"Mary, I don't have _emotions—_ "

"Oh but you do, Sherlock!" You do and you _care_ , even if you like to pretend that you don't."

"So then what do you suggest I do?"

"I think that you need to find a way to way to convince John to let her stay at Baker Street, at least for a while. And then, if John is able to see how much you two care for each other, perhaps he will give you his blessing."

"I need more than just his permission. What about her parents?"

"Ooh you really are serious then." Mary said with a smile. Despite the phrasing, it really was not a question.

"Will you help me?" I implored.

"Good luck." she said with mischievous grin. She turned away from me to go attend to Charlotte who was just beginning to wake.

I silently slipped from the room to go pace the streets of London, hoping that the city smog would help me to devise a plan.


End file.
